


Curious Machines

by Lenore



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Alternate Universe - Steampunk, Community: kink_bingo, Fucking Machines, Kinks, M/M, Prostitution, Romance, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-30
Updated: 2011-06-30
Packaged: 2017-10-20 20:52:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lenore/pseuds/Lenore
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As the lovely <span><a href="http://no_detective.livejournal.com/profile"><img/></a><a href="http://no_detective.livejournal.com/"><b>no_detective</b></a></span> put it, "It's Pretty Women in steampunk times, with sexy fucking machines."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Curious Machines

**Author's Note:**

> This story is for Kink Bingo, for the always delightful Fucking Machines square. Big, HUGE thanks to my darling [](http://no_detective.livejournal.com/profile)[**no_detective**](http://no_detective.livejournal.com/) who did such an amazing job beta reading. This story is way, WAY sexier and steampunkier than it would have been otherwise.

Luck hadn’t been any too good to Tommy Joe the last three nights. Oh hell, who was he kidding? He’d been on the wrong side of fortune since the day he came squalling into the world. But a young man of eighteen who earned his living on the seedier streets of New York City, with his looks and his body and the occasional pickpocketing when all else failed, had no time to ruminate on the past, or give too much thought to the future either. Right here, right now took up all Tommy Joe’s attention: where he was going to sleep tonight, how he was going to eat, how badly he needed to get himself a coat before winter set in for good.

Sadly, his prospects weren’t too promising on any of those fronts. Nope, he hadn’t had any luck at all lately.

“Evening, sir,” Tommy Joe said to a swell on his way to one of the back alley clubs tucked away amongst the tenements and pawn brokers, places where fine gentlemen could take a night off from propriety. The swell didn’t give Tommy Joe a sideways glance, much less slow down.

It looked like his bad luck was holding fast. The weather sure didn’t help: there was a biting chill in the air, unseasonal for early October, the wind coming off the water, cutting through Tommy Joe’s thin clothes like an icy blade. These were hardly the conditions to make a man seek out companionship in the shadows. No pleasure in a half-frozen dick, Tommy knew all too well. The customers who’d deigned to give him some business tonight hadn’t exactly been profitable, shortchanging him on the price or just skipping out on paying altogether.

That was the problem with fine gentlemen; they weren’t all that eager to part with their silver, even for a job well done. They had this propensity to believe the world owed them a good time. Tommy Joe sometimes wished workingmen had the coin to spare for his favors. They understood doing a job and getting paid for it. When one of these fine gentlemen took it in his head to enjoy Tommy’s company free of charge, all Tommy could do was be a philosopher about it and move on to the next one. Anything else, and he’d be the one to end up in the Tombs.

Tommy’s stomach let out an insistent rumble. He ran his hand over his belly, like that could soothe it, and he felt the business card in his pocket, the conspicuous shape of it, the weight of the fancy paper. _Professor Adam Lambert,_ it said, _Inventor of Curious Machines_. A man had come by last night passing them out, not a fine gentleman though just as snooty, tipping his nose up in the air as he made the rounds of the boys who worked the area.

“What’s this professor wanting, huh?” Davey, who worked the next corner over, had asked, a wary squint to his eyes.

“Only someone woefully ignorant would fail to recognize Professor Lambert’s name,” the snooty man answered, tilting that nose up a little higher. “He’s eminent in his field. The professor requires assistance with his most recent invention. The employment is respectable.” He paused. “Or, at least, more respectable than your current occupation. Come to 45 Fifth Avenue if you’re interested. “

The man had given Tommy a look up and down, his nose wrinkling, like he’d just stepped in something, which Tommy hotly resented. He’d had a bath only last week. Or maybe it had been the week before.

“You going?” Tommy asked Davey once the snooty man had moved on.

“Hell no.” Davey tossed his card into the gutter. “I ain’t gonna disappear and nobody never hear from me again.”

Tommy thought that was probably wise, and yet he’d held onto his card. He wasn’t even sure why.

“Evening, sir,” Tommy said hopefully to one passerby and then another. “Evening, sir. Lookin’ for a little company?”

No luck. Tommy’s stomach grumbled more loudly. He was starting to feel kind of light-headed and tried to think back to when he’d eaten last. Yesterday morning, he thought it was. He had just enough in his pocket for a room or a meal, not both, unless he did some more business.

“Evening, sir. Wouldn’t you like to spend some time, sir?” Tommy Joe fell into step with another gentleman, trying to be more persistent.

All he got for his efforts was the silver knob of a walking stick jammed hard into his ribs. “Clear off, you filthy mandrake.”

Tommy Joe fell back, clutching at his side. Could this Professor Lambert really be any worse? Alas, he had to admit the answer was “yes.” In Tommy Joe’s experience, things could always get worse. But he was low on options right about now. Before he’d even really decided anything, his feet were carrying him in the direction of 45 Fifth Avenue.

The same snooty man who’d passed out the cards answered the door. At least Tommy Joe knew he was in the right place. “You might have gone around to the service entrance,” the man said, all high and mighty, then he added more grudgingly, “But as you’re already here—“ He stepped back to allow Tommy Joe inside. “I’ll see if Professor Lambert is at home. Wait here.” He fixed Tommy Joe with a quelling look, in case he took it in his head to go wandering around the place and pinching the silver.

Tommy Joe scowled back, more on general principle than any real sense of insult. Thieving was a necessity sometimes, if all other possibilities had failed, and Tommy didn’t make any apologies for it. Still, he was right curious about this Professor Lambert, so he stayed put and took a good look around the place. The entry hall was the fanciest thing Tommy Joe had ever seen in his life: pink marble on the floor and what looked to be actual gold on the walls and a chandelier almost as big as he was, glittering nearly as bright as the sun.

By far, though, the oddest thing was the great clock taking up the entire far wall. It was an intricate mess of gears and pulleys, some of the metalwork delicately crafted, some of it like something that might be carried into battle, with a dozen different faces, all showing a different time. Weighted balls ran the contraption, or so it appeared to Tommy Joe. An enormous key protruded from the top of the unusual device, presumably to rewind the clock and return the weighted balls to the top where they would once again begin their slow descent.

“Curious machines” didn’t cover it by half. There really was no accounting for the fancies of fine gentlemen. This one was apparently a true gearhead. For some reason, Tommy found this thought comforting.

“Uhm-hmm,” came the impatient sound of a throat being cleared. Tommy Joe turned around to find the snooty man frowning. It seemed he didn’t approve of Tommy Joe goggling at the surroundings. “Professor Lambert will see you in the parlor.” He turned on his heel, expecting to be followed.

The parlor was just as fancy and strange as the entry hall. The walls were covered with painted scenes of fantastical creatures. There was carpet on the floors that was so plush Tommy Joe sank into it with each step. All the furniture was upholstered in soft-looking fabric in deep red and comfortably cushioned, the woodwork carved with the same creatures that were on the walls.

Above the mantel, which was marble and so fine it reminded Tommy Joe of the altar at the church his ma used to drag him to, hung a portrait, and this held Tommy Joe’s attention more than anything else in the room. It was of a handsome young man, tall, dressed in an extravagant frock coat with a green carnation in the lapel, tight-fitting breeches and well-shined boots. His eyes were so shockingly blue they made Tommy Joe feel as if they could see right through him. But the thing that made Tommy want to look and keep on looking was the man’s smile, wide and bright and true, like he was pleased with everything he saw, Tommy Joe included.

It had been a long time since anyone had smiled at Tommy like that.

“Bwah!” came a screech that nearly made him jump out of his skin.

He whirled around and noticed for the first time a birdcage hanging by the heavily festooned windows. A bird, as bright and golden as the cage itself, peered out from behind the bars, regarding Tommy Joe steadily, blinking so slowly it was rather unnerving. Tommy took a caution step toward it, more than a little curious.

“Bwah?” the bird called out again, sounding more conversational this time.

Tommy Joe drew close enough at last to realize that the bird was… a machine! Beneath its gilt feathers, he could see a mechanism like the clock’s, a whole bunch of gears all interconnected and in motion. The bird-machine fluffed its metal feathers and bobbed its head and peered at Tommy Joe intently. That seemed like an invitation, but when Tommy Joe took another step nearer, the bird reared back and let out a thunderous “BWAH!” and shot actual fire from its beak.

“Fuck!” Tommy scrambled back from the cage.

“Helios! Behave. That’s no way to treat a guest.”

The bird settled back down, although it didn’t appear any too contrite. Tommy Joe kept a wary eye on it.

“I apologize for Helios. He’s harmless, I promise, just has a devious sense of humor.”

“Bwah!” Helios squawked indignantly.

“You know you do,” the man told it.

Tommy Joe turned and felt his mouth drop open. It was the man from the portrait, even handsomer in person, his shoulders strong and broad in a dramatic dark blue velvet coat decorated with silver braid and buttons. He looked like he’d stepped out of one of the posters Tommy Joe liked to stop and stare at, for theatrical extravaganzas he’d never be able to afford to see. On the man’s wrist was another contraption, in the shape of a very elaborate bracelet, with all kinds of strange-looking dials and buttons.

The man strode forward to shake Tommy Joe’s hand. “Adam Lambert. It’s a pleasure. And you are—“ He broke into a brilliant smile, even warmer than in the picture. “Besides absolutely adorable, of course, because that’s perfectly obvious!”

Tommy Joe might still be half frozen through from his long, cold night out on the street, but he felt himself melt right there, right then.

“Pleased to meet you, Professor Lambert, sir. I’m Tommy Joe. Tommy Joe Ratliff.” He put on his best manners, clutching his hat nervously. He’d worried about what might happen if he came here, but he never could have predicted this kind of danger. That he’d leave the place with a hankering for bright blue eyes and a kind smile.

“Call me Adam. I insist!” He clapped Tommy Joe on the shoulder, an easy, friendly gesture that took Tommy by surprise. “I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you. Henderson passed out—“ He waved his hand. “I don’t know how many cards, but you’re the first one to turn up.” His brow furrowed. “Maybe I should have made up posters instead. Anyway.” His eyes lit with enthusiasm. “You’re here, and you’re too cute for words, and I can finally get an expert opinion. ”

Tommy Joe nodded along, although he had no notion what Adam was talking about. That light-headed feeling from earlier had returned. He tried to follow what Adam was saying, but his head was so fuzzy and—the next thing he knew strong hands were holding him up.

“Sorry,” he croaked.

“Oh, my dear, I’m the one who’s sorry. Look at me totally forgetting my manners. I should have offered you refreshments before I started talking your ear off.” He pushed a button on the funny-looking bracelet and spoke into it: “Henderson, tell Cook to make up a tray.” He tightened his arm around Tommy Joe’s waist. “Darling, you feel cold too. Is that all you had on outside? No wonder you’re half frozen.”

“I’m all right.” Tommy did his best to rally, fighting off the dizziness, but he couldn’t help shivering. It was far warmer here than it had been out on the streets, but the chill had sunk into his bones, stubbornly lingering. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt truly warm.

Adam brightened. “I know. A bath! That will do the trick. By the time you’re finished, dinner will be ready.”

“That’s not—you don’t have to—“

Adam with a plan was a force of nature, Tommy Joe quickly learned. He spirited Tommy off to the bathroom, keeping his arm around Tommy’s waist to steady him. For the sake of dignity, Tommy tried not to lean into him, but Adam was so big and strong—and he smelled so good—that Tommy might have caught himself listing a time or two.

“Sweet mercy,” he muttered when Adam led him into the bathroom.

He’d heard tell of fancy places with pipes that brought the water right to the bath, no need to carry up buckets from the kitchen, but he’d never thought to see such a thing for himself. The tub was shiny and white, surrounded by more of that pink marble, and near as big as the pond Tommy had swum in as a kid.

“Oh, you’re interested in inventions? How wonderful!” Adam smiled with delight. “This bathtub is fully automated. The mechanics are all very simple, of course, but it adds a great deal of convenience. Well, you’ll see for yourself soon enough.” He pressed a button on the bracelet, and the tub began to fill with water.

Tommy stared in wonder.

“Adorable!” Adam beamed at him. A moment later, though, his expression had taken a turn for the formal and serious. “I’ll leave you to your privacy, of course, but are you still feeling dizzy?” His forehead furrowed with concern. “Will you be all right?”

A warm feeling uncurled in Tommy’s chest. Nobody had been concerned about him since he’d been in knee britches. “I’m fine,” he promised.

Adam didn’t look entirely convinced. “There’s a button right there.” He pointed to the wall behind the tub. “Push it if you need help, and I’ll know about it right away.” He motioned to the bracelet.

“Thanks,” Tommy Joe said, feeling suddenly shy.

Adam dithered a few more minutes, like he was waiting to see if Tommy was going to faint. Once he’d gone, Tommy Joe stripped down and sank into the water and couldn’t help moaning out loud. That chill in his bones would be gone before he knew it. He shut his eyes—just for a moment, he told himself—and was halfway asleep when an odd whirring startled him awake. He opened his eyes just in time to see a mechanical arm reaching for him.

“Fuck! Go away!“ Tommy flapped and flailed and sent water sloshing over the rim of the tub, trying to avoid the contraption’s mysterious intentions.

The mechanical arm persisted, though. It held him in place, and then something squirted onto his chest. It was some kind of soap apparently, because a second later lather appeared. Another arm extended; this one had a sponge on the end. It started to scrub away at Tommy Joe. The first arm went to work on his hair, wetting it and dousing it with shampoo. Apparently Adam meant a lot more by “automated” than just the plumbing.

Tommy Joe managed to relax after a while and let the tub do its work. It tickled a little when the sponge passed over his ribs—he always had been sensitive there—but otherwise it felt right nice. A jet of water rinsed him off good, and the mechanical arms retracted back into the wall, and the tub started to drain, Tommy’s cue that the bath was over.

He stepped out and picked up one of the towels laid out on the cabinet and stopped short when he caught sight of himself in the large gilt mirror over the sink. His hair was clean and fluffy and pure white-blond. Fine, maybe it had been too long since his last bath. He couldn’t remember when he’d seen his hair that light.

“Don’t just stand there dripping on the floor.” Tommy Joe jumped at the brusque voice. He hadn’t heard Henderson come in. “Here’s something for you to put on.” He laid out a dressing gown, the same dark blue as Adam’s coat, the fabric so thick and plush and soft-looking that the likes of Tommy Joe didn’t really have any business touching it. “I’ll take care of these.” He picked up Tommy’s clothes with two fingers, his nose wrinkling with distaste.

“But—“ Tommy Joe’s heart leaped into his throat. Adam seemed nothing but kind, but Tommy hadn’t survived this long without a healthy sense of caution. Having his clothes taken didn’t exactly make him feel safe.

“Garments this filthy will not touch any of the furniture in this house,” Henderson informed him loftily. “Now hurry up. Professor Lambert is waiting, and your food will get cold.”

Tommy Joe pulled on the dressing gown, trying not to feel half naked in it, and found his way back to the parlor. Adam greeted him with a big smile. “I don’t need to ask if you’re feeling better.” He stroked a hand over Tommy Joe’s damp hair. “Pretty color.”

Just like that all Tommy Joe’s trepidations melted away, and he found himself harboring some regret that he wasn’t here for his usual employment. He could use a soft bed and a kind touch.

“Come on and eat.” Adam ushered him to a seat by the fire.

Tommy Joe sunk into the softly cushioned chair with a content sigh. A tray of food sat on the table next to him, fine china and silver glinting in the firelight, roast beef and potatoes and green beans and bread and soup and even a piece of pie, more food than he’d seen in one place since Sunday dinners at his ma’s back before everything fell to pieces. He could get used to this if he wasn’t careful. Not that he’d have the opportunity, of course. He’d do his job and be back out on the streets before the night was done. Tommy ducked his head. He didn’t need the professor seeing how that notion filled him with sorrow he didn’t have any business feeling.

Adam took the seat opposite and smiled encouragingly. “Cook’s very good at what she does, I promise you.”

Tommy realized only then that he’d been holding his fork mid air. He nodded and dug in, and “very good” was a pretty big understatement. Tommy Joe had been brought up with manners. _Aren’t going to be any wild animals at this table,_ his ma always said, giving them a stern look when they sat down to dinner. Sometimes Tommy Joe wondered what would have become of him if she hadn’t been taken by the typhoid, if his pa hadn’t got lost in the bottle, not that it did any good to dwell on might-have-beens.

He set in on his soup, trying not to slurp. It sure was hard to be civilized when you were as hungry as he was.

“There’s no need to be shy about enjoying a good meal, honey,” Adam said gently, permission for Tommy to forget all about his manners.

He happily accepted it and wolfed down his dinner, all but the pie, which he took his time to savor; it was apple, his favorite.

Adam watched with an indulgent smile as Tommy finished up and leaned back in his chair, rubbing his belly. “I would ask if you enjoyed it, but—“ Tommy Joe might have thought he was making fun, but Adam said it so sweetly, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

Tommy Joe smiled back at him. “I ain’t— _haven’t_ eaten so good in—“ He shook his head; it was too long to figure. “I like your house,” he blurted out, before he lost the nerve to say it.

Adam brightened. “Do you really? Most people call it ‘unusual,’ which of course is a nice way of saying ‘crazy’.” He grinned conspiratorially. “But I love it. My machines are my life’s work.”

“It reminds me of posters for the fancy shows they got plastered up all over the place. When I was little, I used to think I’d like to work on shows like that, doing something, building sets or working the lights or maybe even playing music.”

“Interested in inventions and you like the theater too. Could you be more perfect?” Adam smiled, and Tommy Joe could feel himself actually blushing. He hadn’t done that since—he didn’t know when. “I got my start in theater actually,” Adam continued. “I made Helios for a production, in fact.”

The bird let out a resounding “Bwah!” at the mention of its name.

“Is that what you need my help with?” Tommy Joe asked curiously. “One of your machines?”

Adam nodded. “Let me tell you about it, and you can decide if it’s something you want to do.”

“Oh, I’ll definitely—“ Tommy started to insist.

Adam held up a hand. “You should hear this first, honey. It’s rather an—intimate invention. A Mechanical Companion, I call it. Commissioned by a client who knew he could rely on my discretion. The purpose of the machine is to give pleasure, the way your clients take their pleasure with you. Understand?”

Tommy Joe stared at Adam, big-eyed. He thought he knew what that meant, but for the life of him, he couldn’t imagine how a machine could take the place of a man in the sex act.

“Come on. I’ll show you, and then you can decide.”

Tommy Joe followed Adam down several corridors, rounding one corner after another, until they finally reached a padlocked door. Adam took out a key and opened the door and pressed a button on his bracelet, which made lights magically appear, although Tommy didn’t see any torches or gas lamps.

They stood at the top of a steep staircase. “Down here,” Adam said.

He unlocked another door at the bottom, and inside was the most mysterious room Tommy had ever seen. A long table was piled with mechanical gears, glass tubes, a vat of murky liquid bubbling over an open flame that smelled oddly of lilacs. On a workbench sat inventions in varying degrees of completion: what looked to be a gun only with tubes and wires and a glass globe that glowed bright green, goggles operated with a complicated series of gears, and something that seemed to be a little mechanical man with a broom, as if Adam were building himself some more household help.

Tommy Joe went stock still when he caught sight of what had to be the Mechanical Companion. At one end was a motor with pistons and then a long shaft and at the end of that a rubber attachment shaped like a man’s phallus. A padded table covered with a sheet was set up in front of it. That was where Tommy Joe would—he could only stare.

“Hey.” Adam slid an arm around Tommy’s shoulders. He was so close his lips brushed Tommy’s hair when he spoke. “I know it’s off-putting at first glance, but it won’t hurt you. I tested it on myself first to make sure it’s pleasurable. But satisfaction is just so individual that I really feel I need another opinion before I deliver it to my client.” His voice went even gentler. “Please don’t do this if you’d rather not. I don’t want you to be scared or unhappy. I’ll pay you for the time you’ve already spent of course—“

“I’ll do it,” Tommy Joe said hastily, mostly to get Adam to stop talking about money. Normally he didn’t have any hesitations about being upfront about business, but even a boy like him needed to indulge in an illusion every now and then, and he dearly liked the notion of being something more to Adam than a hired hand.

“Are you sure?” Adam peered at him, his forehead pinched with concern.

Tommy nodded, being as brave as he could stand.

It was worth it when Adam pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “You are too good to me, baby.” He patted the table. “Just hop up here.”

Obviously that meant without the dressing gown. Tommy Joe slowly undid the belt. Occasionally his johns paid for a rented room, but mostly it was furtive, snatched encounters in dark doorways. He didn’t often undress in front of anyone. He let the dressing gown slide off his shoulders, a nervous lurch in his chest. It was ridiculous, he realized, for somebody in his profession to feel so skittish. But this was _Adam_ he was getting naked for.

And Adam _was_ watching, his eyes brighter and darker, expression intently focused as Tommy Joe shucked the dressing gown and stood before him without a stitch on.

“Beautiful,” Adam whispered and then appeared to recollect that this was business. “We can get started if you’re ready.” He was doing his best to sound professional, Tommy Joe could tell, but his voice still had a little rough patch to it, a little bit of strain.

Somehow that gave Tommy courage, and he clambered up onto the table in a burst of bravado.

“I just need to get you in the right position,” Adam explained. “Is it all right if I touch you?”

Tommy bit his lip and nodded. It was so much more than all right, but he figured it was best to keep that to himself. Adam urged him to slide a little further down the table, had him bend his knees and let them fall open. Heat rushed to Tommy Joe’s cheeks. He hadn’t felt this exposed any of the times he’d been fucked in some back alley where anyone might have happened by. His sense of vulnerability deepened when Adam tightened leather straps around Tommy’s thighs.

“It’s just to keep you from sliding around.” Adam stroked Tommy’s knee lightly, reassuring him. “Your hands will be free, and we’ll stop any time you want. You just tell me if it gets to be too much, honey, understand?”

Tommy Joe’s heart pounded in his chest like one of Adam’s machines gone crazy, but he nodded with all confidence he could muster.

“That’s good, baby.” Adam picked up a small silver vial from a nearby table. “I need to get you ready for penetration. Is it all right if I use my fingers?”

Tommy Joe hadn’t thought, hadn’t hoped, but—Adam _was_ going to touch him. This time Tommy Joe’s nod was much more eager.

Tommy’s johns used a little spit if he was lucky, and that was more for their own comfort than his. Adam took exquisite care, pressing in one slick finger, so slowly it lit up Tommy’s whole body like he was made of nothing but pure sensation. He had to fight not to moan out loud.

“Just relax, baby,” Adam crooned to him. “Let yourself go. It’s supposed to feel good.”

Adam stroked, crooked his finger, searching, _finding_. Tommy sucked in a breath and let out a whimper. It wasn’t as if getting fucked had never felt good before—it had, but in fits and starts, rarely enough to bring him to completion. No one had ever _tried_ to make him feel good, until now, until Adam.

“You’re doing so well,” Adam encouraged and added another finger.

“Mm,” Tommy Joe groaned. His cock had begun to swell and lift, and he felt so full, the gentle questing of Adam’s fingers sending shivers all the way up his back.

He could have happily gone on like that forever, but there was still a job to be done, and Adam pulled his hand away. “You ready to try this?”

“I think so,” Tommy Joe managed, his voice small, scratchy.

Adam studied him a moment and then nodded. He moved down to the machine and shifted it forward until the rubber phallus nudged against Tommy’s opening. Tommy tried not to tense up, but it was hard when he about to get fucked by a contraption.

“It’s going to start really slowly,” Adam promised him. “ So you don’t have to worry about being taken off guard.” He punched away at the controls of the machine, and the thing whirred to life, pistons working, a plume of steam rising.

Tommy Joe had to close his eyes. He just couldn’t bear to watch. _Adam said it wouldn’t hurt, he promised._ And turned out he was as good as his word. Tommy Joe actually needed a moment to realize the phallus was inside him: the pressure had increased bit by little bit until it was in and moving, a slow back-and-forth motion. Tommy’s body, already pliant from Adam’s fingers, yielded easily.

“How do you feel?” Adam asked, stroking Tommy’s leg reassuringly.

Tommy screwed up his forehead and considered the question. “Just kind of full,” he decided at last.

“Bad full?” Adam asked, with an edge of worry.

Tommy shook his head. It was just—odd. Not like being fucked by a man. The rubber phallus might be shaped like a cock, but it didn’t feel the same, and the rhythm was too perfectly even, no stutter here or there, not faster then slower, just a steady thrust-thrust-thrust. Of course, the machine wouldn't grab him by the hair either or reward him for a job well done with a backhander to the cheek, so there was something to be said for mechanical fucking.

“It’s not enough to—you know," Tommy confided.

Adam nodded, jotting a note in the diary he’d taken out. “The machine is designed for different levels of intensity, so the sensations build.” He moved closer. “I just need to make sure you’re wet enough before we go to the next level. Is that all right?” At Tommy’s nod, he traced a finger around the phallus, testing.

Touching Tommy where he was being fucked. That right there was enough to shoot the intensity right through the roof. He moaned and tried to push into the caress even though the straps around his thighs held him fast.

“Baby,” Adam said, voice like a purr. “God, you’re beautiful.”

Tommy’s cock jerked against his belly. Adam watched intently, like he was trying to drink Tommy up with his eyes, and Tommy couldn't look away either.

"Are you ready, my dear?" Adam asked, his voice low and sultry and so kind.

Tommy bit his lip and nodded. Meeting Adam was the first brush with kindness he'd had in such a long time; he hadn't realized how arousing that particular quality could be.

"Here it comes, honey." Adam shifted a lever on the machine. It kicked into a higher gear, the whine of the motor pitching up, and— _mercy_. The phallus pistoned faster, deeper into Tommy, now hitting that spot that felt so good with every thrust. Tommy arched his back. His thighs trembled uncontrollably.

Adam moved up the table, brushed the sweaty bangs from Tommy’s forehead. “All right?”

Tommy nodded feverishly. He was good, really good, he just needed—Adam must have understood. He hit a button, and the whirring changed again, deeper this time. The phallus started to throb and, oh God, _twist_. For a moment, Tommy’s vision whited out altogether, and there was this noise that kept on and on, keening around in his ears. When he regained his senses, he realized that the noise was his own voice.

“Tommy? Honey?” Adam crouched down so his face was right next to Tommy’s. “Is it too much? Do you want me to—“

Tommy thrashed his head. It wasn’t nearly enough, that was the problem. He ached so good between his legs. He just needed— “Adam,” he begged.

Adam nodded, understanding. “Go on, baby. Touch yourself.”

Tommy actually groaned in relief when he finally got his hand around his dick. He squeezed and pulled and grunted as a hot wave of pleasure zigzagged all through him.

Adam stroked Tommy’s arm. “Yeah, honey, that’s it. Make yourself feel good.”

The weight of Adam’s fingers on his bare skin made Tommy shudder. He felt hot all over, but he _sweltered_ where Adam touched him. “Please,” he begged brokenly. “I want you—“

Adam stilled, like this wasn’t what he’d been expecting. “Anything you want, baby.” He stroked his hand up Tommy’s arm, traced his finger along his collarbones. “You look so good. Do you want to see? Can I show you how beautiful you are?”

Tommy made a helpless little noise that Adam interpreted as “yes.” He punched away at the buttons on his bracelet, and up above, the ceiling started to ripple, each individual tile flipping over, revealing a mirror. Tommy stared up at it, at the sight of his body naked and arching with pleasure, his legs spread, the machine at work between them, the phallus breeching him again and again, the reverent expression on Adam’s face, his hand stroking down Tommy’s chest, his fingers rubbing at Tommy’s nipples. The best part was the way Adam watched Tommy's every response, observing, _knowing_.

Adam understood what Tommy needed, and he took control of the machine, working the lever by hand, pushing it forward and pulling it back, again and again, moving the phallus inside Tommy, pressing in deep, stroking that white-hot place, sending hot, quivering ecstasy all through him.

“Adam, Adam.” Tommy turned his head, desperate, wanting. It was all so much, the relentless, mechanical pleasure, at once distant and overwhelming. Tommy needed to feel the man who was really doing this to him, needed—

Adam stared at him, eyes bottomless and dark. “Baby.” He kissed Tommy’s mouth.

Nobody had kissed Tommy in so long, and he felt like he was being turned inside out, and he couldn’t, he needed—the last thing he was aware of, as the waves of his release rocked through him, was his own voice calling Adam’s name.

When he opened his eyes again, he felt empty, the Mechanical Companion gone. The mess had been cleaned up on his belly and from between his thighs.

“All right?” Adam leaned down, peering at him anxiously.

Tommy nodded groggily.

Adam brushed a kiss to his hair and eased him up into a sitting position and helped him back into the dressing gown. “You did so good, darling. Now let’s get you down from here.” He wrapped an arm around Tommy’s shoulders and eased him off the table.

The only problem was that Tommy’s knees—every muscle in his body really—had turned to mush. He would surely have ended up in a heap on the floor if Adam hadn’t caught him.

“I believe we can call the machine a success,” Adam said, amused.

Before Tommy could try to answer, the room tilted, and Tommy blearily realized that Adam had scooped him up into his arms. He started to say he was too heavy, but the strong flex of biceps beneath Tommy’s cheek indicated otherwise. Tommy doubted he was equal to forming actual words anyway.

So he let Adam carry him upstairs and closed his eyes, lulled. They arrived at a bedroom, and Adam lay him down on the bed. It was even softer than Tommy could have imagined it. He clutched at Adam’s hand to keep him from leaving. The mattress dipped as Adam sat down next to him. He stroked a hand over Tommy’s hair and gave him a light peck on the forehead. Not nearly enough, and Tommy tilted up his chin for a proper kiss.

Adam obliged, and Tommy could feel Adam’s smile against his lips. “You’re going to make me want to keep you, baby.”

“Wish you would,” Tommy slurred out.

There was more he would have liked to say on the subject, but he just couldn’t fend off sleep one more moment.

 

In the morning, he woke, not entirely sure where he was, but pleased to be so comfortable. He stretched and enjoyed the slide of clean sheets against his skin and snuggled a little deeper into the feather ticking. _Adam has the best house of all_ , he thought dreamily. Then it all rushed back to him, and he sat bolt upright, looking around.

The room was empty save for Tommy and completely still. He couldn’t make out any sounds coming from the rest of the house. A pile of garments sat on the bureau: Tommy’s clothes, cleaner than they had been since Tommy had bought them, neatly pressed, folded with care. Alongside his clothes was a stack of bills, Tommy’s wages, and a new winter coat, thick and wool, a token of Adam’s generosity no doubt.

Tommy should have been grateful, _was_ grateful, but the sight of the coat reminded him of what would come next: getting up from this cloud of a bed and dressing himself in his old life and leaving this house without the thinnest hope of ever seeing Adam again. _You weren’t supposed to let yourself get used to this_ , he chided himself.

There was nothing he could do about that now.

He washed at the basin and dressed and draped his new coat over his arm, caressing the soft, warm fabric. Adam had spared no expense. The house was rambling, and Tommy had no real notion how to get back to the front door. He set off wandering, figuring he’d stumble across it sooner or later.

Instead, he found Henderson waiting for him, as snooty as ever. “Professor Lambert will see you in the breakfast room,” he informed Tommy, leaving no option for discussing the matter.

Tommy’s overwhelming impression of the breakfast room was: pretty. The ceilings were high, the walls pale blue and gold, all the furnishings light and delicate. And there was Adam, seated at a table by the windows, the most beautiful thing of all. He was dressed in another extravagant frock coat, deep plum this time, and his hair was glossy and combed back so smooth. His face lit up when he saw Tommy, which was the best part of all.

The table was set for two, and Adam’s smile was big and welcoming. “You’re up! Come and have some breakfast.”

Tommy could smell bacon and coffee, and his belly tightened, threatening to rumble. He’d had a good dinner the night before, of course, but he’d also had quite a work out since then. He’d earned himself an appetite. It would be so easy to say yes, to sit down with Adam like he belonged there, like there was something more than business between them. Illusions burst like bubbles, Tommy knew all too well, and it hurt more if you tried to hold on to them for too long.

“No, sir, Professor Lambert. I’m not staying for breakfast,” Tommy said.

Surprise crossed Adam’s face at the formality, and the moment stretched on way too long for Tommy’s comfort. He was conscious of Adam studying him, of Henderson lurking, eager to see the back of Tommy.

“I just wanted to say—“ he started, but his throat seized up on him. “Bye, sir,” he managed at last in a rough voice and began to pull on his coat.

Adam raised an eyebrow. “You’re going then?”

Tommy nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“That’s a shame. I was really hoping—” Adam waved his hand. “But if you have other places to be, I shouldn’t hold you up.”

“There’s something else you need?” The lurch of hope in Tommy’s voice pained him, but he just couldn’t help himself.

“I thought I might get your opinion. You see, there’s a project I’m about to start work on, for a new theater production. Quite an extravaganza. It’s a very ambitious undertaking, and I find myself in need of an assistant. My requirements are very particular. It must be someone who’s interested in inventions and the theater. Someone with a brave heart and an open mind. Someone whom I feel like I've known forever even though we’ve only just met. A person who likes this house, who would live here with me and spend his days by my side. Do you know anyone like that, Tommy?”

It took a moment—and Adam smiling at him like he was never going to stop—for Tommy to understand what was being offered. It took no time at all to decide on an answer. He rushed across the room and threw his arms around Adam. “Thank you,” he mumbled, his face pressed against Adam’s shoulder.

Adam hugged him back tightly. “No, my dear, thank _you_.”

Tommy lifted his head and pressed his mouth to Adam’s.

Adam touched his face. He looked very serious. “This doesn’t mean—I don’t expect you to—“ He stumbled over the words, more awkward than Tommy would have thought possible for him. “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”

Tommy had lived on the streets since he was fifteen years old, and he knew when a moment called for boldness. “What about what I want?” He slipped onto Adam’s lap and cuddled close and kissed Adam again, lingering over it.

It took a moment, but then Adam got the message and wrapped his arms around Tommy and kissed back enthusiastically.

“I’m going to make you so happy, baby,” he promised, smiling.

Tommy nodded. He had no doubt about it.

“Henderson,” Adam called out, not taking his eyes off Tommy. “Please hang Mr. Ratliff’s coat in the cloak closet if you will. He has not need of it just at the moment.”


End file.
